Out of Reach
by October103
Summary: Four years of having to watch Fletcher chase after Chyna. It's killing Olive, but she's worked too hard to keep her secret. It can't come out now. One-shot, Flolive. Read!


_**Set four years into the future...**_

Sixteen years old. Girls were supposed to have a boyfriend by age sixteen, weren't they? Girls were supposed to be getting their first car and going out on first dates and experiencing first kisses... but not me. Here I was, a sophomore in high school, tall, blonde and hopelessly in love with my best friend's admirer. Fletcher Quimby.

My cheeks flushed a deep shade of red just thinking about the artistic boy. I turned on the faucet and ran my hands under cool water before pressing them gently to my cheeks. Staring at myself in the mirror, I tried desperately to fix myself to a degree Fletcher might like. But it was pointless. I'd tried fixing my hair differently, wearing more outgoing clothes like Chyna did, make-up, nothing I did made him notice me. But it wasn't as if he completely ignored me. We were still friends. We talked every day, ate lunch together (with Chyna), shared classes together (with Chyna), walked the halls together (with Chyna). I mentally sneered Chyna's name and then mentally cursed Fletcher for making me resent my best friend.

Hiking my book bag higher up on my shoulder, I squared my shoulders and walked out of the girls bathroom, intent on focusing on school today and not the brunette who'd definitely gotten cuter in the past couple years. His shaggy brown hair wasn't so dorky anymore. He'd shot way past Chyna and I, standing a good 5'11 already (he'd no doubt keep growing). He still wore his skinny jeans and somewhat stylish shirts. He was perfect in every way that counted. He was perfect for _me, _anyways. Why couldn't _he_ see that?

I shook my head, blonde tendrils flying around my face. Focus Olive, I told myself. You're in school, it's time for school, focus on your school work. Concentrating very hard, I focused every ounce of energy on putting in and pulling out the right books and folders from my locker, without thinking about _him_. I slammed it shut.

"Hey Olive."

I sucked in a breath and my hand flew to my chest, "Oh my god!"

Fletcher chuckled to himself, his hands stuck in his pockets. I slapped him on the chest and he only laughed harder. I turned away from him and stormed down the hallway, refraining myself from running away. That smile, that laugh. They were drugs and I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said I was addicted.

I heard his footsteps jog to catch up with me. He wrapped a friendly arm around my shoulders and I hope for my sake that I was able to contain the shudder that racked my body. He smiled down at me. I violently pushed down the blush threatening to heat my cheeks and turned away from his face, staring down the hallway. I peeked down at the hand that was holding my bare shoulder, deciding that today was the wrong day to wear a spaghetti strap shirt.

He pulled us to a stop in the middle of the hallway and placed both of his hands on my shoulders. Yeah, definitely the wrong day. He gazed down at me with eyes so intense, I almost looked away. His lips quirked up in a smile and I couldn't help the grin that played out on my face.

"So, there's something I want to show you." He said.

My heart started beating irregularly and my knees turned to jelly. I'm almost positive my body temperature raised a few hundred degrees. I could feel my grin widen and I nodded my head enthusiastically. His smile grew, showing all his straight pearly teeth. His hands fell from my shoulders and he gripped my hand in his. We took off down the hall together, hand in hand and into the art room.

"Okay, wait here." Fletcher tossed his back pack on the floor and headed for the cluster of easels in the corner of the room. I waited patiently, a huge smile plastered to my face. I couldn't wipe it off even if I'd wanted to.

He walked back towards me with an easel grasped in his hands. He beamed at me and my heart jumped into my throat, waiting to see what he'd done. Maybe he'd painted me something and this was his way of-

"Do you think she'll like it?" he asked.

I stared, slack-jawed at his art. It was a painting of Chyna and she looked... well, beautiful. She was gazing up towards the sky, stars all around her. It was incredible work, the detail was amazing.

But I couldn't just sit there and admire what he'd done, because my stomach dropped to my feet and there was a lump in my throat. I had the sudden urge to cry, but I wouldn't do that here; I _couldn't_ do that in front of him. I gripped the strap of my back pack that was hanging off my shoulder and did my best to swallow the lump. I glanced down at my shoes and then back up at him. I cleared my throat slightly and said, "Sh-she'll love it, Fletcher."

I turned around and almost ran out of the classroom. People stared at me as I passed them, but I couldn't find it in me to care. Tears were falling down my cheeks and I couldn't seem to get out of here fast enough. The last place I wanted to go was class, but I couldn't exactly walk all the way home either. I skidded to a halt and glanced side to side, anxiously.

The third floor bathrooms.

There was a set of girls bathrooms up there that nobody used. Don't ask me why, because I didn't know, but if it meant no one would walk in on me crying, it was good enough for me.

I raced up the stairs and slammed into the bathroom door, pushing it open quickly and locking it behind me. I threw my back pack against the wall and slid down to the floor. I fisted handfuls of my hair and finally let the floodgates go. Tears fell fast and I _would_ bother wiping them away, but as soon as I did, more took their place.

My phone buzzed noisily and I fished it out of my pocket. It was from Chyna.

_Where are you? Class is starting!_

I sighed and dropped my phone on the floor beside me. I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my face in my arms. I intended to stay like this for a few hours, maybe even fall asleep, but my phone buzzed again and I couldn't resist reading the new message. This one was from Fletcher.

_Olive, where are you? What happened back there? Are you alright?_

No Fletcher, I'm not alright. In fact, I'm very, very far from alright. I can't tell you what happened, because you'll never understand, our friendship will never be the same. I couldn't take it if we were awkward around each other all the time. I couldn't take it if we stopped talking completely. You're my best friend, my everything and I love you, you fool, why can't you see that?

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><p>For the next week, I managed to evade both Fletcher and Chyna. Walking in class only seconds before the bell rang so I couldn't talk to either of them, leaving the moment class was over and hiding in the bathroom until I was almost late for the next class, eating outside at lunch, refusing to respond to any of their texts. It was hard work, keeping up with such a delicate and extreme schedule, but it was necessary.<p>

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to steer clear of Fletcher any longer. On my way out of a class I didn't have with Chyna or Fletcher, I saw him leaning against the wall next to the bathroom I normally hid in. I tried to blend into the throng of students and race past him, but he caught my arm and pulled me out of the crowd. He pushed me, gently, against a row of lockers and stood so close, I could feel his sweet breath blowing breezily against my face. I closed my eyes and tried not to throw myself against him.

"Olive, you've been avoiding me all week. What's wrong?" he asked.

I opened my eyes and played clueless. I'd gotten much better at it over the years, "Nothing's wrong. I haven't been avoiding you. I'm sorry you felt that way."

Unfortunately, Fletcher had also gotten less gullible over the years. He raised an eyebrow at me and crossed his arms, "Olive."

I sighed deeply and looked down at the new high heels I'd treated myself to the other day. They still only brought my to, maybe, Fletcher's nose. The perfect height. I shook my head.

"It's fine. I'll be fine. Just give me a few more days, alright? Talk to me then." I went to walk away from him, but he pulled me back and pushed me up against the lockers again. He bent to my level and stared right into my eyes. I wanted so badly to look away, but I couldn't. He was making it impossible.

"You're not fine. We haven't gone without speaking longer than a day since we were about seven and now we haven't said a word to each other in a week. Tell me what's wrong."

He almost sounded like he was begging, but I couldn't fathom why. My stomach lurched forward as I realized that there was no way around this. Fletcher had gotten too intuitive to believe any crap story I made up now. But I couldn't just blurt it out to him like this. I'd worked too hard all these years to keep it a secret and I couldn't just throw it away now. I couldn't...

"Olive, please tell me what's wrong." he pleaded.

I glanced nervously around the hall, desperately looking for an escape; a reason to get out of this conversation, but the bell already rang and there was no one left in the halls and if being late to class wouldn't make Fletcher let me go, nothing would at this point.

I decided a more straight forward answer might work. I looked back at him, straight into his electric pools of blue and simply said, "No."

"Olive-"

"No Fletcher, now let me go." I demanded.

"Not until you tell me what's been up with you this week." He countered.

For the next few heated seconds, it was a yelling match of "Olive, please!" and "let me go!" until I broke under pressure and yelled at him, "I love you!"

His body solidified and he just looked at me. His rough grip remained on my arms and all I could do was stare back at him. There it was. The secret was out and there was no going back. Ever. My emotions were in turmoil. I was so incredibly embarrassed, I know for a fact my cheeks were bright red. I was relieved because the secret was like a weight off my shoulders. I was angry with myself because I knew just how horribly awkward our relationship would be now. I was worried because he still hadn't said anything. I was a million different things, it was hard to comprehend.

"You... what?" He asked.

I blew out a quick breath and said in a rush, "I love you, Fletcher. I've loved you since we were twelve years old, maybe even before that. Watching you chase after Chyna all these years made me crazy and when you showed me that painting you did of her last week, I... I broke. I didn't want to be around you when I knew how crazy into her you were. It was killing me. And I know that everything will be awkward between us now, but... I can't take it back. I'm sorry if I made this weird for you, but I love you-"

My words were abruptly cut off when he shoved his lips against mine. I stood frozen for a moment, my eyes wide open in shock until I realized that, well Fletcher was kissing me. He wasn't backing away slowly, totally creeped out, he wasn't running down the hallway, he wasn't laughing at me or telling me that "sorry, this could never work"... he was kissing me. My eyes closed slowly and I relaxed into his mouth. His arm snaked around my waist and I kissed him back with everything in me. His lips were rough and smooth and moving so amazingly in sync with mine.

He pulled away and gazed down at me. His eyes seemed... shocked and I suddenly felt more embarrassed than I had before. Maybe he hadn't meant it, maybe it was a short lapse in judgment, maybe he was just seeing if he felt anything, but he didn't. Oh God, I shouldn't have kissed him back.

"Crap, Fletcher. I'm so sorry. I didn't-"

"You were always just so far out of my league," he said to me, his eyes searching mine. It didn't seem to register to him that I'd been talking. He seemed intent on explaining this, whatever is was, to me. "I never even thought to try and pursue you. I knew that there was never even a remote possibility for us. I knew that you would never give me the time of day... or, that's what _I_ thought. You have to understand Olive, I like Chyna, but she pales in comparison to you. If I'd known that you felt the way you do about me, I... God, I don't even know. Things would be different. Things _will_ be different. I know this sounds lame, but deep down, I think I've always loved you. You were just so far out of reach."

Tears welled up in my eyes and I stared up at him, mesmerized. All my worries, everything I was afraid of, it had all been for nothing.

"You... you love me?" I asked him, my voice cracking with emotion

He chuckled a bit nervously, "God, yes."

I laughed, ecstatic with the news and pulled his face back down to mine. I kissed him like I'd always dreamed about, enjoying every scent that he carried, every taste I caught from his lips, every touch he gave me. It was incredible, in every sense of the word. There was a brief moment when I flashed back four years ago, imagining kissing him then, where he'd be fumbling and lost and a smile danced across my lips in the midst of our kiss.

I pulled away from him, leaning my forehead against his and asked, with my eyes closed, "What now?"

"Now, we go to the office and ask for tardy slips because we're very late for class." He said.

I giggled quietly and opened my eyes, staring into his bright blue orbs. Nothing would amount to this moment. I know that I was only sixteen and this was only my first real boyfriend, but I would laugh in the faces of anyone who told me this wasn't love. Because despite our age, it was.

And with that thought, we wrapped our arms around each other and walked down the hall together, blissfully happy in our own little world.

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><p><strong>Well, I hope you all liked that. Constructive criticism is welcomed.<br>Also, if you'd like me to write another, just let me know or give me an idea. Thanks for reading!  
>Review and give me you thoughts! (:<strong>


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